A Leap of Faith
by ShannonSto
Summary: Complete. Grissom and Sara get away from the lab together. Can they use the time to repair their fractured relationship? Answer to the American Geeks in London challenge at PwF.
1. Default Chapter

**Leap of Faith**

**Spoilers: Yes! A potential spoiler for season five, at this point still a rumor, is found below. If you're running completely spoiler-free, stop reading now**. ****

**A/N:** Various sources have reported that at some point in Season Five, Grissom is going to London with at least one other CSI. Both Warrick and Catherine have been mentioned, which begs the question—for the love of God, why? Why can't Sara go? Why, why, why? Yes, I'd like some cheese with that. Anyhoo, we at PwF decided that, at least in the world of fanfic, it's Sara accompanying the boss to London. And so the American Geeks in London Challenge was born. I'd like to thank Psyched and Maddy for their feedback, and Titaia for the geography help. This is part 1 of 3.

The elements are as follows: 1. The Geeks pay a visit to Madame Tussaud's, where we learn Sara is especially eager to have her picture taken with a specific wax figure. Which one? 2. Both Grissom and Sara must eat or drink something curious and quintessentially English. But what? 3. The Geeks take in a Shakespearean play at the Globe Theater. Which play? 4. A nod to a famous British crime fighting duo. Who? 5. The trip must be work-related. How?

**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue me. My life is complicated enough.

**Monday, ****September 13, 2004******

**6:50 a.m.**

Gil Grissom snapped his briefcase shut and turned to face the curious blonde woman, who stood with her arms crossed awaiting his reply. "I'll be back Monday. You'll be fine until then."

"Tell that to the bad guys," Catherine groused. "Sara shouldn't be taking her vacation at the same time you're out of the country on a consultation. That leaves us two CSIs short."

"Sara's attending a conference, Catherine. She needs some time off. She's earned it," Grissom responded. He gave her a pointed look. "I've arranged for Matthews from days to cover if you get into a bind."

"Where's she going, anyway?"

"She said it was out of town."

"You don't know for sure?"

"No." Though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why, his patience was beginning to wear thin. "If you need to know Sara's itinerary, why not ask Sara?"

Catherine ambled slowly to the desk, absently fingering a paperweight. "You two used to be as thick as thieves. What happened?" She didn't actually expect an answer, so she continued. "I can't believe they called you from overseas to consult on a case. I wish someone had told me when I was in school that studying bugs instead of squashing them could earn me an all-expenses paid trip to London. Who knew?"

"I have some things to do before my flight leaves this afternoon," Grissom stated as he left the office. "Goodbye, Catherine."

"Enjoy London!" she called out to his retreating form.

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If sheer willpower alone could clear the jammed street, Sara would have had no difficulty. As it was, however, the fender bender on Tropicana had succeeded in hopelessly snarling traffic and seriously jeopardizing her chances of catching her flight. Moving at a pace Sara was certain would have bored a snail, she eventually navigated her way through the bottleneck and into McCarran's long term parking lot. She glanced at her watch as she darted across the terminal; _Damn! I'll have to check my bag at the gate._

She placed her bag on the conveyor belt and stepped through the security screening. A shrill beep rang. "Ma'am," the security guard beckoned. "Empty your pockets and go through again."

Sara complied, and once again the alarm sounded. She breathed a resigned sigh as the guard passed the wand over her clothing. _What next? A blizzard? A flash flood? _A voice came over the airport's public address system. "This is your final boarding call for flight 479, service to Phoenix. Please proceed to gate D9. All passengers should be on board at this time."

After several more stressful minutes, she finally dropped into her assigned seat and buckled the safety belt. Once she arrived at Phoenix's Sky Harbor Airport, she'd have time to grab something to eat and still easily make her connecting flight; that knowledge helped her to relax. The remainder of the short flight passed uneventfully.

Sara boarded her next aircraft and made her way down the aisle to her seat. _There it is_, she noted, _14K. No more problems, no more surprises_.

The gentleman sitting in 14J sat hunched over, rifling through the carry-on bag at his feet. He seemed oblivious to Sara's presence. "Excuse me," she said after a moment. "I have the window." At the sound of her voice, the man looked up from his task. The look of unmasked bewilderment on Grissom's face mirrored Sara's.

"Wha—?" Words failed her. He fared no better. "Uh…" Sara pointed to the empty seat between her supervisor and the window. "14K."

Still flustered but rapidly regaining his equilibrium, Grissom stood and moved into the aisle, allowing Sara to get to her seat before settling back into his own. "I thought you had a conference."

"Yeah," she smiled wryly. "An international symposium on decomp soil analysis."

"You could teach that."

Sara shrugged. "I need the education hours, and I've always wanted to go to London. With my luck, though, I probably won't have time to do much sightseeing. I'll be too busy schmoozing with people I don't even know." She gave an involuntary shudder.

"I'm surprised you're going. You're not really a schmoozer."

"Me, too." She stuffed her carry-on under the seat in front of her. The plane began to pull away from the gate. Sara turned to Grissom again as the safety video began to play. "So what's your story?"

"My story? Oh, Scotland Yard's got some contradictory insect evidence they've asked me to take a look at. Sure you don't want the aisle for more leg room?"

"No, I like the window so I have something to lean against. It's easier to rest that way. I can never sleep on planes, so I need all the help I can get."

"Relax, Sara." He offered her a warm smile. "It's a ten hour flight. Take it easy while you can."

Sara turned to the window, absorbed in her thoughts. _Relax? Who does he think he's kidding? I have no idea how to talk to him any more, and I'm stuck next to him on an overnight flight. Yeah, right, relax._ Her eyes rolled on their own accord.

**Tuesday, ****September 14, 2004******

Dawn came and went as the 747 flew east into the sunrise. The passengers had begun stirring a short time earlier, taking turns in the lavatory to freshen up from their overnight journey. Sara settled back into her seat; she felt much better after brushing her teeth and hair and partaking of a strong cup of coffee. "Looks like a beautiful morning," Grissom informed her.

"We're not staying at the same hotel, too, are we?" she wondered aloud.

"Depends. Where are you staying?"

She scanned her itinerary. "The Carlton House. It's someplace I found on the internet."

"Then, no, we're not staying at the same one."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty well. I woke up several times, and you didn't seem to be resting very well."

"I told you, I can't sleep on planes. I can rest a little, but I can't really sleep. Besides, I'm used to being awake at night," she grinned nervously and shrugged.

Grissom's practical nature gave him an idea. "We should split a cab into the city. Save some money."

"Okay."

"I'll be back in a minute," he said and vacated his seat to go to the lavatory. As he washed his face and brushed his teeth in the tiny chamber, he pondered the night's events. Sara was adorable curled up against the side of plane, her legs too long for the woefully inadequate seating space. She had slept fitfully, though, leaving him to wonder if she ever slept well, even at home.

It seemed to be an incredible coincidence that not only were they headed separately for the same destination, but they had been seated next to one another on the same flight. What were the odds?

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It was mid-afternoon by the time Sara reached her hotel. She and Grissom had stayed together through the baggage claim, currency exchange, customs, and then the long taxi ride into London. Grissom insisted she be dropped off first so that she could get a nap, a courtesy for which she was grateful.

The Carlton House was smaller than she anticipated, and not as well-maintained as she would have liked, but it appeared clean, and the neighborhood was decent, so she dropped her bags on the floor at the desk and rang the bell. "Yes?" the clerk asked.

"Hi, I'm Sara Sidle. I have a reservation."

"Yes, Ms. Sidle," he squinted at the computer screen. "But I'm afraid this reservation isn't until Thursday. Check in date's still two days away."

"There must be a mistake. Do you have a vacancy today?"

"No, we're all booked up."

"You're kidding me." She realized that the clerk probably wasn't at fault for her predicament, but her frustration was mounting fast. "What am I supposed to do? Is there another hotel nearby?"

The clerk thought for a moment. "Nearest I can think of is The Holiday."

"Where's that?"

"Go up the street six blocks, then turn left. It's about 100 yards up on the right."

Sara sighed. "Thanks." She gathered her things and plodded out onto the sidewalk, desperately wishing she'd had the sense to purchase one of those ubiquitous suitcases with wheels. Six blocks seemed an awfully long distance laden with luggage.

The Holiday was a much larger hotel than the Carlton House. It appeared considerably newer as well, and Sara instantly felt relieved. She silently prayed for a vacancy as she dragged her bags through the revolving door.

"Good morning, madam," the desk clerk greeted brightly. "Welcome to the Holiday. Do you have a reservation?"

"No," Sara admitted. "Please tell me you have a room available."

"Yes, we do. I'll just need your identification and a credit card."

Sara handed over the requested items. "Will a standard room suit your needs?"

"Yes, that's fine," Sara smiled.

"How many nights will you be staying?"

"Six."

When the computer was finished, he handed the key to her. "318. The lift's behind you. If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to call. Enjoy your stay at the Holiday, Ms. Sidle."

Sara found her room and was pleased; perhaps it was for the better that the Carlton House hadn't worked. Fully clothed, she lay on the bed and was asleep within seconds.

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Grissom awoke around four o'clock feeling refreshed. He went to the window and admired the view of the courtyard. A loud thud sounded from the room to the left of his, and a magazine slid under the connecting door. Noticing it was a forensics journal, he picked it up and knocked lightly on the door.

"Yes?" A familiar voice called from the other side.

Grissom couldn't believe his ears. "Uh..._Sara_?" He fumbled open the lock on his side of the door.

After a few moments, a very irritable and disheveled looking Sara Sidle opened the door. For the second time in 24 hours, they stared at one another in utter bewilderment.

"I thought you were staying down the street," Grissom managed to say.

"Yeah, um, I screwed up the reservation."

As he looked past her at the disaster on the floor, she explained. "I was sleeping, and I accidentally kicked the suitcase off the bed. I guess I left it open a little. Damn thing practically exploded."

"That must be how this slid under the door," he handed the magazine back to her.

"It survives the baggage handlers at multiple airports, but the minute I touch it—bam!"

"Well, uh, again enjoy your trip," Grissom offered. "I have to go check in with Scotland Yard."

"Yeah, I guess I should get out the map and find out where I'm supposed to be going tomorrow." She shook her head and grinned with a nervous energy. "I can't believe we have adjoining rooms."

"Fate works in mysterious ways," he responded cryptically as he shut the door between them.

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The clock in the hotel lobby struck seven upon Grissom's return. To his surprise, he found Sara there, perusing the brochures for various tourism ventures.

"Finding time for some sightseeing after all?" His voice startled her.

"Oh, yeah. Get this—the conference is cancelled," she seethed. "They could have called and told me before I bothered to fly all the way over here, but noooo, they had to wait until tonight."

"When did they cancel it?"

"I don't know. Apparently they main speaker had a family emergency."

"You didn't offer your expertise?" Grissom toyed with her. "What are you going to do?"

"I called the airline to see if I could go home, but with the fee they'd charge, it's actually cheaper to just stay the week. So," she pointed to the rack of brochures, "I may as well enjoy it. How did _your_ errand go?"

"Fine."

"Well, I won't keep you," she said gamely. "I'm sure you have things to do."

"Yeah…I'll see you around." As he started to walk away, the inner battle raging within him came to a head. "Sara?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're interested, I could use some help with this consult." He half-hoped she'd see his ulterior motive—he'd get to spend time with her under the guise of work, and, if they managed to finish early, they could see the sights of the city together. He couldn't think of a better way to reconnect with her. "I'll split the consultation fee with you."

"Uh…sure." Grissom couldn't be sure whether it was suspicion or surprise he detected in her voice. "When?"

"In the morning. I have to leave here about eight thirty."

"Okay. I'll be ready." She turned back to the brochures.

Grissom stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button requesting the third floor. _Yes! I have a few days with her. _Then his blood ran cold. _But what will I do with the time?_

TBC


	2. 2

**Wednesday, ****September 15, 2004******

Grissom heard the knock at his door at about 8:20. He opened it to find a far different Sara than the one he'd seen the night before. She was sharply dressed in a dark professional pantsuit. She appeared recharged and eager to get started on a new case—all in all, at the top of her game.

"Hey, come on in. I'm just about ready." He closed the door after her and returned to the bed, where he had papers strewn about. He gathered them up and tucked them into his briefcase. Though he would never admit it, he was honored at the prospect of working with Scotland Yard, the oldest, most-revered police force in the world, and he suspected Sara was, too. "I called the front desk to request a taxi."

"You don't want to ride the Tube?"

"I need to be there on time. I haven't had a chance to study the maps."

"I'm pretty good at navigating," Sara boasted amiably.

"I can't wait to test you," Grissom smiled. "Tomorrow."

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The better part of the morning was spent greeting various members of the local law enforcement community and getting the preliminary information about the case. Eventually they were left alone with the files in the office of Dr. L. Kibben. Sara flipped through the pages. "This insect evidence is complicated, but not _that_ complicated. Don't they have a forensic entomologist?"

"There are three that they work with, I think. In fact, Dr. Kibben, whose office we're using, is an acquaintance of mine, one of the best in the field. I guess they're all unavailable at the moment," Grissom explained.

"So we're trying to establish a date of death, right?"

"That's where we're starting, yes."

"I'll look at the vic, the background and the circumstances so you can do the timeline."

Grissom looked up from the paper and turned to her. "Two types of insects, two different timelines."

"Then we'd better get started."

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The duo worked throughout the morning. For a late lunch, Grissom found a quirky vegetarian café a block away from New Scotland Yard. In between bites of his salad, he asked, "Have you seen the Ferris wheel?"

"The Millennium Wheel? Or I guess it's the London Eye now. Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking of trying it out tonight."

"I thought you were into roller coasters," Sara teased.

"Do they have to be mutually exclusive?"

She smiled lightly. "Let's go."

"Can I trust your renowned Tube navigation skills to get us there?" He responded with a playful grin.

Sara studied her map. "I hate to tell you this, but it looks like its pretty close. We can walk."

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Hours later, they decided to call it a day. Sara's directions were sound, and they made the hike in no time. They walked a short distance along the Thames River before Sara stopped to lean on the rail and gaze thoughtfully over the water. A light breeze blew through her hair.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" she asked in a soft voice. "There's so much history here. There's nowhere in America that has so many centuries of history and tradition."

"Sure there is," Grissom said. "The native American culture dates back many thousands of years. It's just not as well-documented."

"True. But we don't have it recorded and documented like this. History books are full of events that happened on this very spot of ground."

"I have to admit, it is an odd feeling to walk down the same streets as the Bard himself."

"The Globe Theatre's near here, isn't it?"

"I think it's that way," Grissom pointed. "When I was in high school, I attended the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon. I saw a production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, and I remember sitting there thinking how much I would have liked to have seen it at the Globe."

Sara turned to him. "At least you've seen a live production of Shakespeare," she replied. "I never have."

He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. "Ready to ride the big wheel?"

"Ready," she smiled warmly.

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As she dressed for bed, Sara tried to make sense of the day's events. Grissom had been sweet and charming; they'd gotten along beautifully. Was he simply trying to make the best of a bad situation, or was he truly enjoying spending time with her as much as she was enjoying spending time with him?

Next door, Grissom brushed his teeth and settled into bed. He had thoroughly enjoyed his day with Sara. He feared that it was only a matter of time before he said or did something that caused her to pull away from him again, but he was determined to make as much progress as he could toward repairing their badly damaged friendship. Then maybe, just maybe, it could blossom into something more. Usually a man who relied upon well thought-out plans of action, he found himself with no idea how to proceed from here. He had spent most of his life perfecting the art of not needing anyone, and had been largely successful. And then Sara came along. He fought it with all of his might, but he now realized that he was more afraid of losing her than he was of any risk that may come with further involvement.

**Thursday, September 16, 2004**

Sara and Grissom sat at the desk in Dr. Kibben's office, separately working on different aspects of their case. Grissom shook his pen, attempting to revive its failing ink supply.

He grimaced. "Do you have a pen I can borrow?"

Sara reached for her bag. "In here somewhere." Shuffling through the contents of her bag, she inadvertently dropped her passport. Grissom picked it up, open to the fly page. He noted that her picture was better than most people's passport picture, then something else caught his attention. She was born September, 16, 1971. A quick look at the wall calendar confirmed his suspicion: It was her birthday! He handed the passport back to her.

"Thanks," she said, then offered him the sought-after pen. "And, here you go."

"Thank you," he stated, and stood abruptly. "I have an errand to run. Will you be all right here by yourself for a while?"

"Yeah," she answered, slightly confused.

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****

Before returning to the hotel for the evening, they decided to stop at a nearby pub for a meal. Grissom insisted on buying dinner to thank her for helping him wrap up the case so early. They sat across the small round table from each other, intently studying the menu.

"Blood pudding? Bangers and mash? What is this stuff?" Sara wondered aloud.

"I'm having a hamburger," Grissom stated.

"_A hamburger_?" Sara asked with incredulity. "This from a man who puts ants on his eggs? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I've had most of these dishes before," he defended. "It wouldn't be an adventure. And how do you know about the ants?"

"I guess I heard it somewhere. It's not the kind of thing you forget," she teased. "Anyway, you didn't come all the way to England to eat a burger. At least get the fish and chips."

The waitress approached to take their orders. "What can I get you?"

Sara smiled, holding up her menu. "Which of these doesn't have meat?"

"The bubble and squeak doesn't."

"I'll have that, then."

"I'll have that as well," Grissom surrendered.

"I'm proud of us for finishing so early," Sara said brightly. "Holmes and Watson couldn't have done better."

"Holmes and Watson," Grissom rationalized, "didn't have access to the same tools we do."

"Always practical, aren't you?"

He took a long sip from his ale. "What are you planning to do with the rest of the time?"

"I guess I should call the airline and see if I can get an earlier flight."

"I thought you had decided to be a tourist." Though Grissom's visceral reaction was one of pure panic, he utilized his well-honed skill of concealment and put up a calm front. "You said yourself that it's probably cheaper to stay."

"And pay for the hotel until Sunday?"

"Consider it a vacation," he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "You've earned it. My flight isn't until Sunday, either."

Sara rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't tell me we're on the same flight again."

"We'll have to compare notes. In the meantime," he reached into his pockets, and his mouth went dry as he handed an envelope to her. "Happy birthday, Sara," he said sincerely.

Sara wouldn't have been more surprised if he'd whipped out a ukulele and broken into a chorus of "Tiny Bubbles."

"Othello…at the Globe?" she stammered.

"Tomorrow night."

"I, um, I don't know what to say."

Grissom felt the fear in his gut again. Did she not want to go? Or did she merely not want to go with him? "Say you'll go," he choked out weakly.

"Of course I'll go." Sara's surprise gave way to a wide grin. "I'd love to. You just…_totally _caught me off guard."

The waitress returned and set their plates in front of them. Sara poked at her entrée with her fork. "Cabbage?"

"Cabbage," he confirmed.

TBC


	3. 3

**Friday, ****September 17, 2004******

Sara removed her sunglasses, affording her a more direct view of the circular array of carefully placed stones. Grissom squinted as he looked from the guidebook to the mysterious monument, and then back to the guidebook.

"Weren't the Druids credited with building Stonehenge?" Sara pondered.

"They were by some, until scientists dated the site as having been constructed more than a thousand years before the Druids came to power."

"How old is it?"

Grissom found the appropriate passage in his book. "The placement of the actual stones began around 2100 BC, but there's been activity at the site for as long as 11,000 years."

"Wow. If I remember correctly, during equinoxes and solstices the sunrise is perfectly placed between certain stones."

"It's not precisely aligned, but they were able to predict eclipses."

"They must have had a pretty amazing knowledge of physics and astronomy."

"One historian in the twelfth century wrote that giants carried the stones from Africa to build a monument in Ireland," Grissom paraphrased. "And then King Arthur ordered Merlin to bring them here. Of course, again, scientific evidence rules out that theory."

As they continued to walk around the fenced perimeter. Sara found herself frequently sneaking peripheral peeks at her companion. With each passing hour since stepping onto the airplane in Phoenix, she became increasingly curious about his intentions. He had been friendly, attentive, playful and downright delightful; what did it mean? His notice of her birthday and personal gift had floored her. And now here they were, touring the English countryside as if they were…well, a _couple_. She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion brought on by such a thought. Another surreptitious glance—_damn, he's handsome. And the way he unconsciously sticks his tongue out just a little when he's concentrating…I'll give him something to concentrate on._

"Sara?" Grissom tried a second time to get her attention. His first had gone unnoticed, unable to break through her reverie.

She turned to him, her face slightly reddened at being caught daydreaming. "Sorry, I was in my own little world."

"Tell me you weren't thinking about work."

She struggled to hide her embarrassed grin but failed. "I can honestly say I was not thinking about work."

"Good." Though he had a strong urge to press her for details, he suspected it might be wiser to let her keep her secret. It obviously was a source of discomfiture for her. He found her reaction amusing. "I'd like to have lunch before we get back on the bus."

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Side by side, Sara and Gil walked along the riverfront. They needed to unwind after their evening at the Globe Theater, and walking seemed like a good way to do it.

"Grissom…thanks for the play. It was incredible."

"You're welcome."

"Really, I had a great time. I never imagined I'd get to do anything like that." She felt relaxed and comfortable in his company. It was a good feeling after being emotionally estranged from him for so long. She didn't sense that in a few moments all of the familiar tension would rear its ugly head.

"Neither did I." Grissom gripped her elbow as they stepped around a tourist stopped for a picture. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Othello is one of my favorites. He was the ultimate tragic figure."

"No," she shook her head, "Othello was a murderer. Desdemona was a tragic figure. Her only sin was falling in love with the wrong man."

Grissom gave her a pointed look. "He loved her. He thought he had evidence that she betrayed him, and he reacted emotionally rather than rationally. It's human nature."

"Circumstantial evidence. She told him that she didn't, and he should have believed her. She never gave him a reason to doubt her." Sara's voice cracked, her emotion beginning to show. "He was so quick to think the worst about someone he supposedly loved."

Grissom felt increasingly uneasy. _We're not talking about Othello here, are we?_ "And he recognized the gravity of his mistake. He was overcome with guilt and regret."

"He should have believed in her."

"It wasn't doubting her that led to his downfall, it was self-doubt. Perhaps in the darkness of his soul, he didn't believe he was worthy of her. He didn't think someone like him could ever really make such an amazing woman happy." He wished he could see into her eyes, but she kept walking. "His readiness to believe that she would need to look for happiness elsewhere, then, was a reflection of his own insecurity."

"But she was happy. An obstacle, be it race, religion, social status or even an age difference, doesn't necessarily doom a relationship to failure."

"Othello was betrayed," he said softly, finding yet another parallel. "Not by Desdemona, but by someone else he trusted. He followed the evidence."

"Sometimes it's not about the evidence. Sometimes it's about trusting someone who'd give you her heart and soul. I know to you that's blasphemy, but I believe it." It crossed her mind that she might be pushing him too hard. He seemed to have made progress and be making genuine overtures to her these past days, and she'd be foolish to scare him off now. But it felt appropriate to speak her mind here and now. "I've made mistakes, too. I know that. But at least I was willing to try. Sometimes you have to trust in things that you can't see and touch—take a leap of faith."

"A leap of faith….would be very difficult for me."

Sara exhaled slowly. "I never betrayed you," she revealed quietly. "I know you think I did, but I didn't. And I wouldn't." She sat down on a bench next to a book stall, her elbows on her knees and her face cradled in the palms of her hands.

Gil stood and watched her for a moment, trying to decide whether to continue the conversation. Yes, he decided, as difficult as it was for him, they needed to get all of this out into the open. He sat next to her on the bench. "I never said that you betrayed me."

"Not in so many words, no." She stared straight ahead. "You said I showed you a better life, but then I took it away and gave it to someone else."

Grissom stared a hole through the side of her head. How on Earth did she know that? Brass? _No, Jim wouldn't have told her. She must have been listening. Oh God, what else did I say? You have to pull this one out of the fire, Gil._ "Then you also heard me say that I care."

"I heard you say that I wasn't worth the risk."

_No! No, that's not what I meant!_ "Sara, that's not what I said."

"You said that you couldn't do it. You couldn't take the risk."

"I said I couldn't. Past tense. Not that I can't now…or in the future." He reached over and cupped her cheek in his hand, gently coaxing her to look at him. She kept her head forward and eyes fixed on the empty air before her. "Honey, it was about my shortcomings, not yours."

That sat in silence, unmoving, Sara staring ahead and Grissom staring at Sara. At last she turned to him. Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

"I'm not sure what to do with that. The end result is the same."

"No," he soothed, "it isn't." He closed the gap between them and briefly touched his lips to hers. "I'm ready to take the leap of faith."

Sara began to shiver slightly. Grissom couldn't be certain whether it was the cool night breeze or the intense emotion of the moment. "Are you cold?"

Uncertainty clouded her face. "I don't know now if _I'm_ ready. I can't help but think this is some sort of mirage."

Grissom swallowed. "Have you changed your mind?"

"I don't…I don't know what to think. I've been through a lot of ups and downs with you, about you, and I haven't always handled them well." She exhaled deeply, the memory of her lowest moment still too fresh. "I'm not sure I can take much more."

"Then maybe we should take it slow…start over again."

"How?"

"We're here. We're spending time together. Let's just enjoy it."

She offered him a sad but hopeful smile. "I'd like that."

"Stonehenge was my choice. Tomorrow's yours. What do you want to do?"

"Okay…" Sara thought for a moment. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise I'll try not to."

"Madame Tussaud's. There's a picture I have to get."

**Saturday, September 18**

"Come on. Let's do the stars first and then we can move on to the historical figures." Sara paused while Grissom snapped a photograph of her with a wax likeness of Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones. Several celebrities later, she stood behind the Beatles and threw her arms around John Lennon. Grissom dutifully recorded the moment.

"Why aren't you posing?" she asked. "You haven't let me take any of you."

"This isn't my thing."

"The Beatles aren't your thing? As much as I don't want to remember the night that you drove me home, I do recall seeing _Rubber Soul_ in your car."

"Photographing myself with wax figures isn't my thing," he clarified. "I thought you had someone in mind that you wanted to see here."

Sara's face clouded over. "Are you going to ridicule me?"

Unable to ascertain whether she was genuinely becoming upset or just playing with him, he offered a conciliatory wink. "Not at all. To each his own. Or her own, as the case may be."

"Fine," she exhaled as a grin spread across her features. "He's over there."

Grissom fought to stifle his reaction when she stopped next to the robust figure.

"Good evening," she imitated.

"Alfred Hitchcock?" He hoped he succeeded in keeping his amusement concealed.

"What? Hitchcock made some of the best movies that ever existed. Murder, mystery, psychological intrigue…the man did it all. I always wanted to meet him. This is the next best thing." She was surprised by his thoughtful nod. "Haven't you ever seen _Rear Window_?"

Grissom shrugged. "I had it solved 37 minutes into it."

"You did not!" Sara elbowed him playfully and was caught off guard when he swept her into his embrace and kissed her cheek. If someone had told her a few days ago that Gil Grissom would initiate a public display of affection, well…it was fortunate that she didn't own a ranch. She leaned into Hitchcock while Gil snapped the picture.

Passing by several more entertainers, Grissom came to a stop in front of the figure of Ludwig von Beethoven. He stared pensively until Sara spoke up. "You want a picture, don't you?"

"Oddly enough, I do." His affect was somber, almost reverent as he stood beside the composer. Sara took the photograph and put the camera away, fascinated by his reaction.

"Your favorite?"

"Hmm…"

"He was deaf, wasn't he?" She recalled matter-of-factly. "And he kept composing even after he lost his hearing."

"Yes." Her innocent question served to remind him of all of the things he'd kept from her; things he knew he should tell her if they we're going to attempt to move forward together. But today was not the time for that conversation. Today he would simply enjoy her company and allow himself to believe, if only for a day, that he could actually succeed in beginning and maintaining relationship with her.

They strolled without flinching past the severed heads and dismembered corpses in the Chamber of Horrors, pausing only briefly at the guillotine before moving on to the next macabre exhibit. The crime scene depiction was eerily realistic.

"Jack the Ripper left a trail of evidence a mile long. We would have had him with in a week," Sara asserted. "It's too bad they didn't have the DNA or fingerprinting technology we have now."

He gauged her reaction carefully. "Even today, there are some that get away from us."

"Don't remind me," she responded glumly. "Oh God, the rack."

Gil followed her line of vision to the recreation of a man stretched out on the medieval torture device.

"You know what bugs me most about this? Not only did someone's twisted mind have to devise this, a living human being had to adjust it at regular intervals to inflict the agony. Can you imagine being pulled apart?" She shook her head sadly. "I guess I should be used to witnessing cruelty by now, but I just can't imagine how anyone could do that to another person."

"'Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn.'" He put an arm around her shoulder. "Robert Burns. Come on, let's see the rest of the museum."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's a beautiful afternoon. How about a walk through Hyde Park?" Sara suggested as they reemerged into the daylight. Gil kept his hand resting on the small of her back.

Twenty minutes later they leaned back on the lawn enjoying ice cream cones. A small crowd gathered around a young man shouting and pumping his fist wildly.

"Oh, I know what this is!" Sara realized. "Speaker's Corner! I've read about it. Anyone can take the podium and speak his mind, as long as he doesn't denigrate the Queen." She took a seductively long lick of her ice cream. "How about it? Got anything you'd like to say?"

"I have plenty that I'd like to say," he admitted softly. "But it should be private…I've kept things from you. I thought I was protecting us both, but as it happens, I ended up hurting us both."

"There are things I haven't been totally honest about, either. And you're right—it's private. I want to talk about it, but right now I want to just enjoy this day."

Grissom studied her face as she echoed the same thoughts he'd had just a short time before. "You say that as though it's the last day we'll have."

"It may be," Her flat tone failed to hide the sadness in her eyes, nor did it mask the storm brewing behind them. "Tomorrow we fly home, and all the things that kept us apart will still be there."

"If the last few days have taught me anything, it's that our biggest problem is communication. We've just established a mutual desire to change that." He steadied her shaking hand with his own.

"So when we get home, you won't suddenly remember that I'm your subordinate, and 15 years younger than you are and forget that all of this ever happened?"

His blue eyes locked with her brown ones. "Never." Leaning in, he gently kissed her lips.

She relaxed considerably. "Then let's sit back enjoy the rest of our trip."

**Sunday, ****September 19, 2004******

Sara's heart felt heavy as she stood in line to check her bag. Despite his reassurance that their newfound closeness would return to Las Vegas with them, she couldn't shake the fear that Grissom would slam the door shut again. She did her best to push her concerns aside as she turned to him. "I can't believe we're on the same flight again. I wonder if it's too late to arrange to be seated together."

Grissom raised his eyebrow, appearing all at once like the cat that ate the canary. "We'll see."

The CSIs handed their passports and tickets to the ticket agent. "Any chance we can sit together?" Sara queried.

"Your seats are already together, ma'am," the woman informed her. "Someone arranged it yesterday."

Grissom shrugged and winked. "I called and took care of it last night."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Once again, Gil would have sworn that her grin outshone the sun.

They made their way through security and to their designated gate, each lost in thought. Neither knew exactly what their future as a couple would hold, but each was determined to make it work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The little girl spun in circles as she and her mother staked out a spot in the McCarran baggage claim area. She bounded with the endless energy all young children seem to possess, much to the befuddlement of their exhausted parents.

"Lindsey, honey, try to be still," Catherine groaned. "You're making my head spin."

"There's another group!" Lindsey announced. "Maybe he's with them!" She pointed to the stream of people appearing on the escalator.

Sure enough, Grissom soon came into view. The next thing that Catherine noticed was something she didn't expect at all: his hand held that of the brunette woman next to him. Sara! Son of a gun, she blinked to be certain she wasn't imagining it. She was glad to see the social recluses finally get their collective act together, but it was Archie who had chosen June to September 2004 in the Geek Love Pool. Catherine had bet on January to April 2005. She always scoffed at shortsighted bettors like Nick and Greg who had predicted the union would occur in 2002 or 2003; they obviously didn't know Grissom as well as she did. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself…maybe Gil and Sara just happened to bump into each other on the plane. And he was holding her hand because…

"Uncle Gil! Sara!" Lindsey cried gleefully, throwing herself at them.

"Lindsey…hi." Sara greeted the child cautiously.

"Catherine." Grissom directed his attention to the blonde woman. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Catherine smiled broadly. "So I see. We, uh, we just thought you might like a ride home from the airport, maybe some company for dinner. But I see you already have company."

All of Sara's internal alarms sounded. _Oh, God. Here it comes. Total denial._ She braced herself as best she could for the inevitable.

"Yes, I do," Gil slipped his arm around Sara's waist. "We're going to relax around my house this evening. It's been a long flight."

"No problem," Catherine replied. "And congratulations. What about the ride? Offer's still open."

Sara smiled earnestly, though she still wasn't sure she trusted her colleague's sincerity. "Thanks. But my car's in the lot."

"So you're covered. I guess we'll see you at work tomorrow night."

"Is this going to be a problem for you, Catherine?" Grissom studied her as he would a specimen in a jar.

"Would it matter if it was?"

"No." Grissom shook his head and pulled Sara's bag off the carousel.

"I'm very happy for you both. I'm not sure how it'll go over with the suits, but I'm good with it." Catherine's eyes darted about the cavernous room and settled on their target. "Linds! Over here—now!"

"I'm not concerned about the suits," Grissom stated casually.

"Okay. There's just one thing…"

"What's that?"

"I hate when Archie wins. Couldn't you two have waited just a few more months?"

Sara and Grissom exchanged confused looks.

"Never mind," Catherine said. _God, they're so geeky that they're adorable_. "Let's get you home."

**The End**


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